Harbor
by meetmeatthecoda
Summary: Speculation fic based on the season 6 finale promo. Liz saves Red from Anna McMahon and, after such a trying day, things come to a head. Strong T rating for some language, some violence, and some kissing. Lizzington.


It's been one hell of a day.

Liz has already been in more gunfights than she can count, been shot at far too many times, and then almost killed by a gunman she didn't even see until it was almost too late. The only thing that saved her was Red, magically appearing to shoot her would-be killer, emptying his whole clip into him without hesitation, and leaning out of the window of a moving car to do it. And, if she hadn't been completely frozen with fear at the thought of what almost happened, she would have climbed into the backseat of the car and done something about the heat that scorched through her at the sight of him.

(It's probably best that he drove away. But that doesn't mean she has to like it.)

It's much later when her body manages to catch up with her again, in a dark ammunition room in the depths of the Post Office, while she's slipping on tactical gear with the rest of Red's team as they make a plan to break her colleagues out of the box. Red prowls around, fedora slipped low over his face, his eyes flitting uneasily about the room. And he may think she doesn't notice when his gaze stops short on her, leaning against the wall with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a bullet proof vest strapped to her chest, loading a shotgun with ease, but she does. She can feel his stare on her like tiny flames licking up her body. She watches from the corner of her eye as his gaze sweeps up and down her body, his jaw working before he turns away, and she has to remind herself to focus on the task at hand: rescuing the team.

(And this time she has to work a little harder at keeping her thoughts away from what exactly they could do in this ammunition room once his team leaves.)

And after they've rescued her colleagues and they're securing the Post Office, things go to hell once again because that red-haired bitch just won't give up. She sneaks out from where she was hiding in the shadows, waiting for her opportunity, and takes Red from right under their noses. Red, who she's always hated, from the very minute he made it clear he wouldn't help her twisted cause. Liz turns just in time to see McMahon backing into the elevator with him, a gun shoved into his side, while he just looks steadily at Liz, going along easily and without protest. Liz wastes no time in taking the next elevator but only gets to the ground floor in time to see him in the back of McMahon's car as she drives off like a madwoman, tires screeching. And it's really too bad, Liz thinks as she gives chase without a thought, without a single reservation. Because when Red's safety is involved, McMahon isn't the only madwoman there is. But only one of them is concerned about herself.

(And it isn't Liz.)

But they're all here now, near the harbor, their cars abandoned a few yards away in the gravel, with McMahon and Red near the water's edge, Red handcuffed and kneeling while McMahon stands behind him, gun pressed to the back of his head, while Liz's gun is trained right in between her eyes. Liz can feel Red staring at her, steadfast and unwavering, and she has to fight against the memories of the last time he looked at her like this, strapped to a table waiting for death. Because she has to focus now. And the knowledge that this woman is responsible for both of the times Red was nearly taken from her in the past month has red-hot anger coursing through her, sharpening her vision and making her trigger finger _itch_.

(Because the only person Red should be on his knees for is _her_.)

So, Liz stares straight at McMahon, who's breathing heavily and trying to gauge the situation, glancing around as if there's someone here that's going to save her. But Liz knows very well that it's unlikely she's leaving this harbor alive. Especially if she puts a bullet in Red. Which she _won't_.

The sheer force of the protectiveness Liz feels for Red in this instant is shocking in its intensity, making her grit her teeth to still the trembling in her jaw, swallow the fear she's trying to ignore, because if something _happens to him_ –

No.

She won't allow it.

Liz flexes her hands around the butt of her gun.

"Well?" Liz shouts across the few feet separating them. "What's it going to be, McMahon? Are you going to come quietly or is this going to get messy?"

McMahon barks a harsh laugh, clearly aiming for cockiness, and almost succeeding. "Well, last I checked, I'm the one who has the hostage here, _Agent Keen_," she sneers nastily. "And you can't come any closer in case I decide to pull the trigger," she goats. "Which I fully plan on doing, by the way. Raymond Reddington been loose on this earth far too long, especially after he refused to die when he was supposed to and then started meddling in my affairs!"

"Oh, you mean sabotaging your ridiculous scheme?" Liz snarks, unable to keep the derision out of her voice.

"Yes!" McMahon snaps. "It would have worked perfectly if not for him! No matter how many times I try to get him out of the way, Reddington still manages to ruin everything! Well, that ends now! I may have failed, but so have _you_!" she jams the muzzle of her gun further into Red's head. "_No more cheating death!_"

(At her words, rage erupts with Liz, sheer animalistic fury, her whole body rebelling at the thought of Red _gone_.)

"So, I think the question is: what are _you_ going to do, Agent Keen?" McMahon asks haughtily, taunting.

"I'm going to put a bullet in between your eyes."

The matter-of-factness of her voice surprises even Liz and she sees Red shift ever so slightly out of the corner of her eye. But Liz stares only at McMahon, who looks completely taken aback.

"You wouldn't," she snaps, suddenly not sounding at all confident.

"Oh?" asks Liz calmly. "And why not?"

"Because…you'll go to jail. For life," McMahon says, starting slowly but picking up speed with every word. "You won't have a chance at exoneration, you were already granted that once. It won't happen again." She seems very sure of herself all of a sudden and Liz marvels quietly at how right she thinks she is. "Willfully shooting _two_ U.S. Attorneys General? And the second for your C.I., one of the most wanted criminals in the world? You wouldn't dare. You'd never see the light of day."

Liz smirks then, a small, probably disturbing thing, judging by McMahon's faltering face.

"You really are a stupid bitch, aren't you?"

McMahon's mouth actually falls open at that and Liz has to smother her dark laughter. "You actually think I care if I go to jail?"

McMahon frowns then, clearly confused. "You would go to jail? For _him_? _A_ _criminal_?" she asks incredulously, pushing her gun more into Red's head for emphasis, making Liz shift a little closer, her finger twitching over the trigger of her gun.

"Do you really not know what it's like?" Liz asks curiously, mentally throwing caution to the wind. It doesn't matter. She'll be dead soon anyway. "Loving someone enough to kill for them?"

"Lizzie."

It's Red, speaking for the first time and almost succeeding in getting her attention, the long-abandoned nickname and the raw tone of his voice combining to make her insides _ache_, but Liz manages to ignore him. "_Him_?" McMahon repeats, dumbfounded. "You _love_ _him_? _Why_?"

"I don't expect you to understand why," Liz brushes off the question easily. "But I do expect you to understand what it means. Believe me when I say I won't hesitate to shoot you. I have nothing to lose that I won't readily give for him."

"Lizzie. Don't."

Red tries again, in that same tone of voice, but tinged with a little desperation now and even McMahon notices, glancing down at him in surprise.

It's time to end this.

"Last chance, McMahon. Put the gun down."

Liz watches carefully as McMahon's face goes through a series of emotions in quick succession: disbelief, confusion, irritation, fear, and finally anger.

She's not giving up.

(Good.)

"I'm not going to prison!" she screeches, the wild tone of her voice pushing Liz forward another step. "What kind of world do we live in where I'm locked up and the _Concierge of Crime_ walks free?! He _deserves to die_!"

"You don't get to decide that," Liz says calmly, centering her gun. "And you're wrong about one other thing too."

"What?" she sneers rudely.

_Stupid bitch_.

"I killed the first one for him too."

And Liz shoots her in the head.

She dies instantly, dropping like a rag doll, her hand still clenched around her gun, taking it with her and away from Red. And now that the threat is eliminated, all danger to Red gone – for the moment anyway – Liz finally allows herself to look at Red, turning her gaze to him with a relief that nearly makes her eyes water.

"_Lizzie_."

It's a disbelieving, shocked gasp, too familiar a thing for her liking, too often said and heard in completely the wrong circumstances and the sound itself, coupled with the way his mouth is agape and he's staring at her, still there on his knees, has her hurrying forward, unable to be physically apart from him for a second longer.

Because it's been one hell of a day.

The second she reaches him she's dropping to her knees in front of him with only one goal in mind. Because there's only so many times in one day that one of them can look right death in the eye, only to be saved by the other, before something inside _just snaps_.

So, Liz's hands come up to gently stroke his cheek, carefully remove his sunglasses, and yank his face forward to capture his lips with hers.

(And the huge thrill she feels inside at the sensation of his surprised gasp against her mouth is absolutely everything.)

The second her lips touch his, the dam is broken, and all the fear and tension that's permeated her throughout this whole _hellish_ day is making her scoot forward on her knees to push against him, tilting her head to gain better access to his mouth, which somehow tastes like she's always hoped it would. Her hands are moving restlessly while her lips work against his, passing over his shoulders and up his neck, kneading there as her tongue tangles with his, before moving on to stroke his head, his short hair soft against her fingers. She drags the nails of one hand across his scalp, while her other hand moves around to the back of his head, where the gun was pressed, and she accidentally rubs over the welt left there.

(And the physical reminder of how close it was, the protectiveness that would have had her burning down the world to get to him, has her snarling into his mouth, unable to control herself.)

Red, shocked into passiveness up until now, seemingly moving on autopilot despite Liz's hurried lips, now jerks in her arms, the sensation of her fingers on the small hurt on his head and the sound she releases into his mouth seemingly the things that kickstart him into action. And the deep groan he suddenly lets out startles her in the best way, and she's pressing against him as much as she can to feel the vibration in his chest.

(She's always imagined that he'd be like a lion, large and powerful and majestic, but just as willing to roll over and _purr_ under her hands.)

But Red takes control now, his teeth tugging on her lower lip, making her whimper and bite back without restraint. The growl that he lets lose at the feel of her teeth thrills her and she's about to make good use of this new knowledge but then he's pulling back unexpectedly. Liz frowns and drags him back with a hand on the back of his neck, pressing quick, hurried kisses to his lips, unwilling to let him go. He returns them all, frantic and wild, before he's trying to pull back again. Unacceptable.

"Lizzie–"

His voice breaks off in a shudder as she finally relinquishes his lips, only to move her mouth to his neck and _bite_.

"_Lizzie, uncuff me_."

His rumbled words send a shiver down her spine and it takes a long second for her brain to remember that he's handcuffed at all, before she's pulling back from him reluctantly. She gets one look at his dark eyes and kiss-swollen lips and her hands are shaking in anticipation and adrenaline as she tries to remove her key to the standard police cuffs that are around his wrists. He turns slightly away from her, tilting his hands in her direction, trying to help her in inserting the tiny key into the lock, her trembling fingers making it difficult. It takes a long moment, but she manages and, as soon as Red hears the snick, he turns away, twisting his wrist with practiced ease to unlock the cuffs himself and whip them off, tossing them carelessly to the ground.

Within seconds, his newly freed hands are on her wrists, stilling the trembling, and she stares stupidly at them, taking a moment to process the red marks the cuffs left, pressing into his wrists when he was straining against them, _trying to_ _reach her_ –

But she doesn't have long to consider how that thought thrills her because then Red's hands are tugging her arms back around his neck, pulling her back in to capture her lips again and _oh_.

And his hands make it all better this time because, in addition to his tongue doing wonderfully filthy things in her mouth and his teeth nipping at her lips, his hands are now active participants, one arm wrapping like a steel band around her waist to hold her firmly against his body and she's sighing into his mouth at the feeling, while his other hand delves into her hair, fingers digging in and ruining her ponytail, and she can't get enough of him.

(Alive and warm and devouring her because, god, _she almost lost him_.)

And it's all she can do to return his desperate kisses with equal passion, resting a hand on his jaw, feeling it move and surge as he works his mouth against hers.

(She thinks they very well would have stayed there all day, kissing on their knees at the harbor, which she thinks is rather appropriate because god, she wants to _drown in him_.)

It's only the wailing of sirens in the distance, intruding into the tiny bubble their world has shrunk down to, a reminder of reality and the body that's cooling a few feet behind them, that has him pulling back from her with a gutted groan that she tries desperately to follow with her mouth. She keeps her eyes closed, taking a long moment to breath him in, feel him against her, slow her racing heart. When she finally opens her eyes, he's staring at her with something like adoration plain on his face, mixed with a sizable portion of lust.

"Lizzie…" he murmurs quietly, his eyes softening as his finger wipes away a tear Liz wasn't aware had fallen down her face. "Lizzie, you shouldn't have shot her, not for me."

Liz huffs a watery laugh, shaking her head ruefully. "Red, I told you before: I love you. And…I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you alive."

And Liz watches, transfixed, as his eyes fill with tears at hearing those words, his words from years ago, repeated back to him.

(Killing McMahon was completely worth it, if just for that look on his face.)

Liz tenderly cups his cheek, hating her next words but knowing she has to say them, needing to address the one huge roadblock that is still left in between them. "I know you can't forgive me and that's okay, I –"

"Oh, Lizzie," he interrupts, chuckling quietly, surprising her, stunning her with his next words. "After all that, how could I not forgive you? You killed the Attorney General to save me. _Again_. You risked everything. _Again_…for me."

The awe in his voice is clear as well as the underlying message of self-deprecation, that deeply-held belief that he's _not worth it_, which Liz knows in her bones will take more than just a make-out session at the dock, however passionate and fiery, to unseat, to debunk, _to eliminate_.

(But she will, oh, she will. She doesn't care how long it takes. She plans on showing him in every way she knows just how _worth it_ he really is.)

But, for now, she just shrugs, unable to do anything else. "I love you," she repeats a little helplessly, another tear falling down her cheek. It seems that now she's started saying it, she can't stop.

(Because she loves the how the words feel in her mouth, how they sound in the air around her, the warmth in her chest at the answering look on his face when he hears it. She hopes one day he'll be able to feel the same.)

Red strokes a thumb over her cheek and her eyes slip closed at the feeling.

"I love you too," he repeats, his voice rough and battered, but truthful.

(And she never thought today would be that day.)

She presses her cheek to his in silent thanks, tears now streaming continuously down her face, the relief she feels so profound that it would bring her to her knees if she weren't already there on the ground with Red. But not dragged down by him as she once thought she would be. No, she joined him here willingly, out of love.

Liz pulls back and opens her eyes to look at him.

_Love_.

The familiar word, now so intricately tied with his beloved face, has her moving towards him again, kissing him as if they've been doing it for years, deep and sure, but still with that exhilaration of new lovers, all as the sirens come closer to them. The team will be here in a moment and maybe she'll be arrested or maybe Cooper, her mentor, her father figure – the only one she's ever had after Sam – will let them flee like last time. Maybe she and Red will go away, hide somewhere together, so much closer than they were before.

(Liz thinks she would love that more than anything.)

But really, she doesn't know what will happen. Either way, she can't bring herself to care too much as Red breaks away from her mouth with a gasp to press a tender kiss to her forehead instead.

It's been one hell of a day.

But, here at the end of it, they're both alive, saved by each other, and _together_. And that's all that matters.


End file.
